


Peek-A-Boo

by Giggles96



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Family, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Halloween, Humor, cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 10:45:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2544698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Giggles96/pseuds/Giggles96
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike loves Halloween, but does not always understand it. Short snippets based on Heard You Crying. One-shot</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peek-A-Boo

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**Peek-A-Boo**

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**Summary:** Mike loves Halloween, but does not always understand it. Short snippets based on Heard You Crying. One-shot

**A/N** : I wasn't going to write this because I'm pretty sure I've procrastinated enough, but then… I simply couldn't resist. Please don't be mad.

**Disclaimer:** _none of these characters belong to me. I apologise in advance for any foul language._

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It's the twitching toes, soft skin poking through the plastic net, that instantly gives him away.

Smothering a sigh, Harvey tries to stay mad - he really does - but he feels his lips curve as his heart is reduced to mush.

Daintily rifling through damp towels, limp socks and dirty clothes, the senior partner has to push back the affectionate laugh that threatens to break the surface, disapproving frown on the brink of defeat, as big blue eyes peer up at him from between the sleeves of one of his softer sweatshirts.

Then comes the elated but muffled, "Boo," and that's it - he's a goner.

Sniggering quietly, Harvey resumes trawling through the laundry basket until his hands finally make contact with a pink-faced, giggling toddler, grasping under his armpits and heaving him up onto his hip.

"Aw, kiddo. What am I gonna do with you?" he moans, carding his fingers through the scruffy, dust-speckled tuffs of blonde hair and feeling his shoulders go slack at the thought of another exuberate bath-time, complete with ear-splitting squeals, great, lumbering splashes and more suds daubed around Harvey's chin than there are floating around the entire tub.

Apparently, it's only fun if _Daddy_ is the one with the gloopy bubble-beard that tickles your damn nose and is inexorably hell-bent on entering your locked mouth.

"'Cared you!" Mike boasts, tapping Harvey's nose and beaming.

"Oh, yeah. Very spooky. You scared me real good, puppy. Phew," he breathes, reaching up and pretending to wipe sweat from his brow. "Almost had a heart-attack."

What his adorably misinformed two-year-old has failed to grasp is that, as a general rule, when one wishes to frighten another, it is not advisable to yell, _'Daddy, Daddy! Me hide now!'_ beforehand (while jumping on the spot and yanking at his pant's leg, logically) and then wait for them to come find you, rather than popping out of a closet or something of the sort unexpectedly.

Truth be told, _had_ Mike simply upped and vanished while his was attention momentarily deviated, hysteria-induced heart failure would almost certainly have been the natural outcome. At the very least, the father would be scarred for life and then accused of smothering on a daily basis.

Suddenly, Harvey is incredibly thankful that his son considers ghost-hood and hide-and-seek as being one and the same.

Rubbing his nose, the youngster scowls, pausing to sneeze sweetly before protesting, "I Dost, Daddy! Not a _puppy_."

"Hmm, are you sure you're not a ghost puppy?" Harvey wonders, turning the tap and inserting the plug. Water gushes, a cloud of hot steam shaping as he adds a drop of lavender oil (please God, let it work this time. He does not want a cranky toddler on Halloween) and dips in a finger to test the temperature. It doesn't take long for the tub to fill and he shuts off the water, before going to retrieve a clean towel.

"Nuh-uh!" With a disgruntled pout, Mike mulishly shakes his head. "Just dost!"

"If you say so, puppy."

"Me _not_!" Had he been on the ground, there definitely would have been a stamping of his feet.

Appearing nonchalant, the senior partner shrugs. "Okay, pupp-" Mike quickly splays his hand over Harvey's mouth to halt his speech, who decides to lightly nip the tiny fingers.

Choking on giggles, the youngster yanks his hand away and shrieks, "Top it!"

"But I'm soooo hungry and you're just too tasty!" Harvey tells him helplessly, leaning down close and teasingly snapping his teeth. "Cute enough to eat - isn't that what Auntie Donna is always saying? I might just have to gobble you up!"

"Don't dobble me, Daddy!" Mike pleads, snorting at his father's silliness. When Harvey reacts by pretending to munch on his cute, little button nose, he schools his features into a stern, earnest frown, - which nearly causes Harvey to fall into hysterics, recognising his own expression - and wags a finger, admonishing, "No, bad Daddy!"

Needless to say, that same finger is soon trapped in the older man's mouth.

Someday, Mike will master the art of scaring the crap out of his father (although, Harvey suspects it probably won't be while swathed in a large, white sheet and monotonously groaning), but for now, Harvey is content having the toddler chortle as he squishes the senior partner's cheeks together while he himself pulls an assortment of funny faces.

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Present Harvey would very much love to slap Past Harvey up the back of his head.

Why he ever thought it was a good idea to indulge Donna's nefarious schemes, he'll never know.

After another day of consoling a heartbreakingly distraught Mike who had immediately burst into tears after claiming that the washing machine was an undercover zombie/Dracula hybrid on the hunt for naughty little boys' brains or blood or internal organs, or something, (he may not have used those exact words) Harvey had reached the inevitable conclusion that his son is perhaps a bit too young to go trick-or-treating. But Donna, ever the 'cool' auntie, had insisted that he still attempt some kind of holiday tradition.

He didn't like the thought of Mike being around knives or any other sharp object, so carving pumpkins was a absolutely-no-way-in-hell, and the idea of Mike bobbing for apples literally sent shivers down his spine (though, as Donna later pointed out, why take him swimming if he is so petrified of the kid drowning? It didn't entirely make sense).

Maybe it was Halloween itself that had put Harvey on edge or maybe it was the countless horror stories of children getting kidnapped or injured that usually crop up in the media this time of year, but he refused to place the blame on his own over-protective shoulders. No matter how many jabs Donna made about the state of his manhood, Mike could have an enjoyable time _without_ having to approach stranger's homes and wander around this cold-blooded city.

Next year… well, the excuses may run low, but his determination certainly wouldn't. Besides, Mike will only be _three_ , so he might not be ready for all of the chaos of Halloween then, either.

Is he a bad parent for kind of hoping so?

Nevertheless, all of this chat about making _this_ year memorable, has left Harvey in such a position where he sort of wants to lock himself in the bathroom and refuse to emerge until the fall season is over.

Donna dropped by earlier, positively beaming, and had painted his little puppy's face to look like an actual puppy, proceeding to take what he estimates was a hundred different photos at a hundred different angles, until Mike literally made a break for it as soon as he caught a glimpse of the flash, scurrying over to Harvey and burying his face in his pants. The patch around his left eye got a tad smudged in the process, but it was worth it to see the affront on Donna's face.

Luckily, (and he did try to conceal his elation, honest) the redhead had a date and was forced to leave soon after, quickly forgiving a watery-eyed Mike whose fingers had to be carefully pried off her blouse once he realised she wasn't staying.

Which leaves him here, setting out ingredients as Mike dances around at his feet, babbling excitedly about everything and anything, while he just nods along and hums every so often without a clue what's being said.

After cautiously melting the chocolate, Harvey places the bowl on the counter, before washing the toddlers hands and raising him up so that he can reach, passing the boy an apple on a stick, which he wastes no time plunging into the rich, thick liquid. Next, he rolls the fruit in multi-coloured sprinkles and clumsily plonks on a handful of smarties, before dumping on some mini-marshmallows, just for the sake of it. This is repeated four, five, six times, and the older man isn't sure who on earth is going to eat all of these because they don't exactly appear all that tempting.

Or edible, for that matter, Harvey thinks, as he watches Mike accidentally poke a hole through the centre of an apple which is both runny _and_ clumpy, for the third time.

But when Mike nervously pipes up and asks what he thinks of them, Harvey doesn't hesitate before ruffling his hair and enthusiastically stating, "Mm, yummy. They look fantastic, kiddo. You're such a great little helper."

During the whole, rowdy activity, Mike is giggling gleefully, jerking in Harvey's clasp which, at this stage, he has come to expect whenever the boy gets the tiniest bit animated, so in any case, at least he's having fun.

By the end, however, the milk chocolate which had looked so delicious before, seems like an absolute abomination now as it clumps locks of hair together in a sticky, knotted disaster and clogs up _ears_ , has been smeared across a grubby chin and become a vacuum for dirt on the kid's chubby fingers that - believe it or not - he apparently can't resist shoving into his mouth. As for the sprinkles… Oh, God, they're _everywhere_.

Also… So long, puppy face-paint.

It goes without saying, Harvey, himself, is a little worse for the wear too, currently debating whether or not to chuck his beloved tee in the wash or the trash.

The overjoyed expression lighting up his sweet little son's face, however… Just makes it one-hundred percent worth it.

By the time he's finished bathing the youngster, it's almost twenty-past eight, so Harvey dresses him in his Mike the Knight PJs and decrees it's time for bed.

They settle down in Mike's room this time (yes, Harvey witnessed firsthand how much candy that boy managed to waggle throughout the day, but he's really, really hoping his eyes were deceiving him) to watch a film, with the toddler sucking mindlessly on the edge of his blankie while hugging his stuffed wolf, Jellybean, to his chest, tucked safely into Harvey's side.

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Harvey can't say he is surprised, exactly, that after ten minutes of scouring the condo, he finds his son cowering behind the couch with his hands pressed hard against his ears, sniffling.

The first hadn't been so bad, he swears. A bit of a startle, is all.

But as the screeching blasts gradually grew in intensity as more and more fireworks were launched into the sky, Mike had repeatedly flinched, tears gathering in his eyes and breath hitching, before it all became too much and he skittered off before Harvey could vanquish his fears with a cuddle.

Lowering himself onto his knees beside the quaking toddler, Harvey swallows down the guilt in order to gently but firmly remove his hands and comfort, "Mike, puppy, it's okay. I know loud noises are scary, but nothing is going to hurt-" Before he can even finish his sentence, the lawyer's arms are suddenly full of puppy as Mike flings his arms around his neck and cries wretchedly.

"Shh.. It's alright. Everything's alright," he murmurs quietly, massaging the boy's back and pressing a kiss to his temples. "Daddy won't let anything bad happen to you."

"No like it!" he rasps.

"I know, I know. It's not nice."

Carefully rising to his feet with the youngster clutching at him tightly, Harvey smoothes the kid's fluffy hair, and starts singing Mike's favourite (and his own most cherished) lullaby - the one guaranteed to send the toddler straight to dreamland.

Yet before he has even reached the second verse, Mike abruptly stills in his hold, peeking out over the father's shoulder at the view beyond the window in entrancement.

Instantly wriggling, he orders, "Wanna do dewe!"

Harvey rolls his eyes at the demand. "Easy, tiger. It's late. You don't need to go out in the balcony."

"Wanna see _wights_!" Mike persists, pointing at the fireworks in youthful impatience despite being deathly afraid of them just moments prior.

"Sorry, puppy," Harvey grimaces, "But it's dark and cold-"

Mike's lip wobbles.

"…Let me go fetch a blanket."

Once the youngster is suitably wrapped up, the pair step out onto the poorly lit balcony, with Harvey absentmindedly rubbing along the boy's arms to keep him warm.

Staring open-mouthed at the dazzling sparks of colour, Mike unconsciously lifts a hand as if to touch them, while Harvey feels that familiar gooey feeling encircle his heart, a tender smile gracing his features.

"Pwetty," Mike breathes, blue and green embers reflecting in his large, awe-struck eyes.

"Yeah, pretty," Harvey echoes, grinning faintly as he nuzzles his nose against the pup's.

For the next half hour, the two watch the stunning display in contented silence. The air is cool and sharp, but peaceful, and to the older man's surprise, Mike has no qualms about the night. Without realising, Harvey recommences his adaptation of the low, mellifluous lullaby, rocking the sleepy toddler who snuffles absently.

Thumb delving deeper into his mouth, Mike turns and cuddles into his father's chest, eyes fluttering shut as Harvey's heart, soft and soothing, thuds in his ear.

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_Thanks for reading._ _Please let me know what you think._


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